The Old Miner
by Xeraphan
Summary: The Fire fades once more. When the living have failed, and where the Lords of Cinder have failed, now the world must rely on the Ashen Ones. Promises to keep, vengeance to be had, and decisions to brood over. The journey of the Old Miner begins.


I awoke with a start, feeling the ever-present aching in my old bones. However, it was difficult to tell whether my eyes were open or not due to the pitch blackness of my surroundings. I felt around the small space and figured I had been placed in a coffin or some other stone container. A strange combined feeling of fear and familiarity washed over me, and I shoved the top half of the container off with what strength I could muster. My joints crackled and popped with disuse, something that concerned me very much. Finally, the lid was removed, and I pushed myself to my feet, my body protesting every movement with aches and cracks.

Looking back down, I realized I was, in fact, sealed in a coffin. However, fortunately, I was locked in with my trusty pickaxe, some old beaten up armor, a flask of yellow-orange liquid, and some smaller, darker chunks of stone. Shards of a material called Titanite. The blacksmiths of Lothric simply adored these shards, along with the larger varieties of shards, chunks, and (If miners such as myself were skilled enough) slabs. Perhaps I could find a smithy and have him perform maintenance on my equipment.

Firstly, however, I noticed that there were glowing red-orange marks along the ground. After putting the armor on, storing the flask and shards in my pouch, and shouldering my pick, I approached the markings to discover it was writing etched into the air itself, not the earth like I had assumed.

"_Brave Ashen One, I bid thee a warm return to the crumbling Kingdom of Lothric. You were awakened from your eternal rest for a dire purpose, the Linking of the Fire. It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you it fades once more, and the task of continuing its existence falls to you. However, before you can link it, you must first prove your worthiness by slaying the old Lords of Cinder: Saint Aldrich of the Cathedral of the Deep, the Abyss Watchers of Farron's Undead Legion, and the Profaned Capitol's reclusive lord, Yhorm the Giant. The task sounds daunting, but you must relink the Fire and continue the cycle. I beg of thee, Brave Ashen One, save our world. Please._" The message ended there. I took several minutes to reread and reread again the writing.

I wandered away from the message, whistling an old work tune I knew that would help me get through the day. This attracted a walking corpse, who shambled toward me before suddenly swinging a shattered sword blade at me with a guttural noise. I dodged to the left, raising my pickaxe above my head and driving the head through the back of the corpse, spraying darkened blood across the ground. While it was writhing in agony, I raised my pickaxe again and drove it through the creature's skull, ending its suffering. Once the twitching finally stopped, a white wisp left the body and flowed into me. It felt strange, like I was being filled with unfocused power. Perhaps I could find someone to assist me in directing this power where it was needed.

Pressing forward, I found a truly dead body with a flask in its hands, similar to the yellow-orange one I had in my pouch. I picked it up and placed it in my pouch as well. It felt cold, almost the opposite of the other flask, which held a warmth I felt drawn to. I looked around, noting several pathways like seem like they branch off but meet up at the same place almost immediately. I continued forward, slaying a couple more rag-wearing corpses with swords and a crossbow before I discovered a pile of bones with a sword sticking out. I reached out to touch the hilt but the pile ignited, creating a small flame that felt the same as the warm flask. I rested here, feeling the aching die down.

Once I had sat for long enough, I went back and looked to the left to see a waterlogged pathway. I slew the returned corpses and proceeded down the path to find myself in a small open area with a clump of blue crystals in a stony-looking outcrop. Or at least, to a normal person that's what it would appear to be. I immediately recognized it as a Ravenous Crystal Lizard, a creature that (I believed, anyway) resided in dark caverns surrounded by rich mineral deposits that strengthened the crystals on its hide. I went on my guard as I approached, and it was a good thing I was.

It unfurled itself, and jumped into the air, slamming its paws into the earth and calling a wave of small crystal shards to spring up around it. I rolled away from the shards, swinging my pickaxe at the beast. Two strikes connected, shattering some of the crystals on its back. It let out a roar of pain, something I was unaware it could do, and spun around. I was disoriented from the roar, so its tail attack hit me, sending me sprawling into a gravestone and dazing me even further. I stumbled out of the way of its rolling attack, reached into my bag, and pulled out the warm flask. Quickly, I took a drink from the flask and felt that warmth course through my body, dulling the pain in my stomach and my head.

I studied its attacks as we fought, being cautious and keeping just out of chomping reach. Once I thought I had spent enough time watching, I charged in, rolling under a swipe from its front paws. Keeping the momentum, I slammed the pickaxe into its face, staggering the monster. I took its head in my hand, drove the pickaxe into its head, ripped it out, and drove it further in. The Lizard collapsed, writhing and releasing a blue vapor. After thirty seconds the creature finally died, and I carved scales and broke crystals off from the corpse. The surge of power from this beast was several times greater than the power of the moving corpses, and I wondered if I could even find anyone capable of refining this strength as I returned to the bonfire.

After five minutes of slaying more moving corpses, I came across an archway that led to an open arena with a large suit of armor impaled on a sword similar to the one buried in the bonfire. I cautiously approached this as I did the Lizard, but discovered it was immobile. I moved past toward the large door and found it was locked. I sat in the arena for a while, weighing my options. On the one hand, I was stuck here until someone unlocked the door. On the other, I had a feeling the door wouldn't open unless this thing in front of me died.

I stood, placing my pickaxe on my belt. I approached the impaled armor and felt a pair of dark presences within it. Had it been corrupted by the Abyss, I wonder. Against my better judgment, I removed the coiled sword from it, tossing the blade to the side. I readied my pickaxe, feeling the tension in the air increase, and watched as the suit of armor stood and picked up a glaive that sat at its side.

I couldn't see any eyes through its helm, but I was certain it was watching me. I drew my pickaxe once again, and we circled around the area. Suddenly, it dashed three steps to my left and swung toward me. I went to block but couldn't raise my pickaxe in time. The blade struck my torso, lodging itself in my armor and shooting searing pain up my body. Before I could do anything, it tore the glaive from my body and went for two quick stabs. I dodged the first with a pained roll, but the second caught me and gave me another deep wound.

When it ripped the glaive from my body again, I was on the cusp of death when that warmth of the bonfire touched my lips. My wounds, while still flaring with pain, were sealed up. My lost blood was replenished, and I stood up a little straighter.

I felt its gaze on me, waiting, calculating. I stowed the flask back into my pouch, tightening my grip on my pickaxe. This primal feeling welled inside me, the feeling that this thing needed to die- No, to _pay_. It needed to pay for its transgressions.

I charged the thing down, bringing the pickaxe over my head before cleaving it hard into the thing's pauldrons. I felt the armor give and drove the tip as far into its body as I could. As it staggered from the attack I saw a few black tendrils writhing about. So it _had _been tainted by the Abyss. All the more reason it needed to die.

Before I could swing my pickaxe down onto the thing again, it grabbed me by the face and stabbed me completely with its glaive, tearing it from me as swiftly as it had stabbed me. I fell to the ground, bleeding profusely. As my vision faded, I heard a dark echoey laugh and a voice mockingly say "_**YOU DIED**_."

I woke with a start at the bonfire, clutching at my stomach as a phantom pain flared up. "I just… I really did just die…" I murmured, my voice raw and hoarse. I stood up and stretched, nearly doubling over as the place where I had been stabbed flashed again with agonizing pain.

I felt weak again, as though all that raw unconcentrated power had left my body. More than anything else, _that _made me angriest. For once in my long life, I had been _strong_. I wanted that feeling again. I tore through the corpses with ease and found myself standing at a wall of fog. I put a hand through to test if it was safe and pushed through when I found it was.

Once I had crossed the threshold, the thing, which had been kneeling as it had been before, stood and grabbed its glaive. Round 2 was beginning.

I tightened my grip on my pick. Feeling that primal urge surface again, I charged it down head-on, rolling under a side swing and slamming my pickaxe into the back of its knee. It made no pained noise but buckled under its own weight, giving me time to wretch my pickaxe out and drive it down through its helmet. As soon as I did, though, it let out an earsplitting screech as a mass of black ooze-like substance erupted from the tentacle protrusions.

The eruption knocked me back, sending my pickaxe clattering across the area. A disgusting, rotten looking arm grew from its left arm. This thing was hiding a Pus of Man inside itself!

I quickly grabbed my pickaxe and readied myself. This monstrosity supposedly took an entire garrison of Lothric Knights to subdue; not kill, subdue. And even then, a majority of the garrisons deployed never returned. How was I, an old decrepit miner, supposed to beat this thing?

It screeched again, pulling me from my thoughts and putting my nerves on high alert. It pushed itself off the ground in a leap and tried to skewer me with the glaive again. I dodged to the side and slammed my pickaxe into the oozey body of the Pus. It punched through easily, and I found it difficult to pull back out. With a great effort, though, I ripped my pickaxe free from the Pus and backed off. I was breathing heavily, exhausted from the fighting.

An old trick came to my mind, from the days when I was still just a humble miner for Lothric. A fellow of mine showed me how to galvanize my body so I could mine even if I was spent from the day before. I slowed my breathing and focused my vision onto the head of my pickaxe. I felt _something _give, and suddenly my exhaustion was gone.

Just in time, since the thing decided it was time to attack again. The Pus opened its maw and tried to scoop me up, but I drove my pickaxe into its mass again, driving it deeper and ripping it out again, slamming it into the armored part of the thing. It gave a pained screech before it dropped to one knee.

I tore the pickaxe free from its armor and began swinging away at its body like I would a stone wall. I ignored its screeches and watched with a savage glee as pieces of its armor were chipped away and sent flying. Finally I broke off a large enough chunk that a pulsating mass of black could be seen, and I raised my pickaxe behind me before using the last of my galvanized strength to pierce the thing's heart. Black ooze sprayed out and it let out one last screech before collapsing and igniting into a fire.

The remains were swiftly burned away into ash and bone, and a coiled blade materialized in the pile as it lit up. Another bonfire.

I dropped my pick and fell back. I felt another surge of raw strength and then a second as a familiar strength returned. I smiled a little. I was strong again.

The sun had set and risen again when I ventured past the doors. I ripped through more corpses and a would-be blade master before stepping foot into a room with five large stone thrones. A voice, soft and feminine called out to me.

"Welcome, Ashen One, to the Firelink Shrine."


End file.
